Catharsis
by Cadaverous Apples
Summary: Exposure to the other inevitably leads to destruction, but they don't care. It was always more fun to play with the resulting pieces, anyway. A pastiche of two people locked together in kismet. PT.
1. I: she didn't look back

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

I

she didn't look back

* * *

Pansy Parkinson had quickly discovered that Nice inspired a penchant for light, fruity white wines she hadn't previously wanted nor cared for. It was so _easy _to stare down the streets framed with colorful house more suited for an Impressionist painting and wish for something to intoxicate her as easily as the very city had.

She didn't need a steady pub—no, simply the restaurants that stayed open long past normal hours, branching into the streets of Nice and enticing her to try their delicate wines. A glass here, a glass there, a bottle now; then she was nearly waltzing across the cobblestones, lighter than a feather and thinking she might have drank champagne to have the feeling of sheer bliss that was bubbling through her veins.

She spun, feeling the arms of the wind keeping her balanced and eyes making love to the stars, and then—she struck him. Like two fallen stars colliding, she struck him and felt an explosion of feeling that rocketed through her like a pulse. Pansy broke her gaze with the stars, eyelashes fluttering down to indicate her change in focus to the slimly muscled arms that anchored her securely.

"Excuse me," she murmured, trying to see if this was the greeting of an old acquaintance from another city or merely a stranger who stumbled and caught her. The arms shifted her until her nose was nearly touching the flat chest in front of her, covered by a stylishly knotted scarf. The movement made her pause.

She knew that move.

"No harm done," said the man, his voice so achingly familiar it tore her to the marrow.

For the briefest of moments, she considered closing the centimeters that separated them and sinking into his embrace like she would a warm safety blanket.

But that was too intimate a way to greet someone she hadn't seen in three years. Too intimate for two people who'd been shattered beyond repair.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, stepping out of his reach and tilting her hat downwards to stop herself from searching for his eyes. As she was turning she saw him lift a hand, as if to grab her and turn her back, but it faltered just as she lost sight of it.

She Apparated to her hostel as she turned the corner, breaking the line between them that she had felt from her core the instant she stepped away from him.

She pulled out her bottle of Firewhiskey she'd intended on saving and drank until Theodore Nott's face had mercifully vanished from her mind.

* * *

A/N: Hello again! Wanted to toss this out while I'm still in the mood. This is the first of thirteen different prompts (drabbles or ficlets, as per the LJ community rarepair_shorts' requirements) based on Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott's relationship. I've been meaning to do these two but just haven't ever had the time.

One thing you should know:

-they aren't chronological, but they're all in the same universe

Looked over by Kira (**amethyst-rose**) and beta'd by the sleepy Haz (**Ha'niqua**). Thank you both!

A little bit of a different characterization of the two, but I'm experimenting and if you could tell there are foreshadowing for future drabbles in my customary angst. I am just a cruel author. :)

Thanks for reading!

Roma


	2. II: serpentine

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

II

serpentine

* * *

They sat across the Common Room from each other. He sat on the fringes of Malfoy's sycophants, almost a part but just far enough to prevent association. She was near the fire, textbooks discarded in a haphazard pile because no Slytherin would be seen actually _studying_, not listening to Daphne Greengrass prattle on about some dim-witted Hufflepuff.

Pansy moved her head fractionally; just enough to shift inky locks over parchment skin and expose the pale column of her throat. Theodore turned, chartreuse eyes half-lidded, and inclined his head in her direction.

They gave their apologies to their respective groups, Malfoy dismissing him with barely a wave and Daphne merely shifting a little to her left to continue on to Millicent Bulstrode. They met halfway, turning as one to exit the Common Room. He took her books and held them casually as they walked, strides synched and arms brushing with each step that took them farther and farther away from their peers and closer and closer to their destination.

By the time they'd made it to the Room of Requirement, Pansy's hand was innocently tucked into the left back pocket of Theodore's trousers, the only visible link between him and her.

They vanished into the Room without incident and the books spilled to the floor like a verbose waterfall. Her ivory fingers tipped with delicately shaped nails twined with his burnished gold fingers that ended in blunt, coarse fingertips, touching so softly as if to be skin-starved. Her lips parted, perhaps to allow his name to slip out, but he silenced her confession that might have been with butterfly kisses that he dribbled down her throat.

She tightened her grip on his tie like it was a noose and she was his executioner and he gasped out his final prayers as she devoured his sins with her teeth and tongue and lips until he was empty and she had filled him to the brim with emotion.

And then he would worship her like she was his goddess and he had made it his mission to map every inch of her with everything but his eyes.

They weren't friends. They weren't enemies. They weren't betrothed. They were Pansy and Theodore and they were an enigma and yet something so basic that everyone who witnessed it could recognize the sensation, if not the name.

They were everything and nothing to each other and they knew it and didn't care.

* * *

A/N: Part dos. As you can see, it's a bit earlier in the timeline, assuming that the first one was post-Hogwarts year. This would probably be mid-seventh year because I'm not _entirely _comfortable with even insinuating sex scenes between minors (17-year-olds still count as minors).

Beta'd by Haz (**Ha'niqua**) who did notice that I changed tenses like four times.

Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing! :]

Roma


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